TOM'S SORE THROAT.
"Plenty of jelly and nice things to eat,
And we'll hope he'll be better to-morrow."
I woke very early the next morning. I woke with that queer feeling that
everybody knows, of something having happened. And before I was awake
enough in my mind even to get a distinct thought of what it was that had
happened, I yet had a feeling that it was something pleasant. For the
first time since mother had gone I woke without that terrible feeling of
loneliness that had been getting worse and worse every day.
As usual I glanced over at Tom's bed to see if he was still asleep.
"Tom," I said softly, "are you awake?"
"Yes," said Tom, all in a minute, as if he had been awake some time.
It was all clear in my head now--about our losing our way and finding
Miss Goldy-hair and the letter to Pierson, and Miss Goldy-hair,
promising to invite us to go and see her, and everything.
"Tom," I said, "we can't go to Pierson now. I gave her leave to tell."
"Who?" said Tom, "Pierson?"
"No," I replied. "Of course not. What would be the sense of writing a
secret to Pierson if she was to tell it?"
"I didn't know you wrote a secret to Pierson," said Tom; "I can't
understand."
He spoke very meekly, but I felt provoked with him. I felt anxious and
fidgety, even though I was so pleased about having found Miss
Goldy-hair; and I thought Tom didn't seem to care enough.
"How stupid you are, Tom," I said. "You knew I had written to Pierson to
tell her I was going to take you and Racey to her."
"I didn't know it until I heard you tell _her_," said Tom. "I don't
think we _could_ go to Pierson's, Audrey. We might get lost again."
"We wouldn't get lost," I said. "We wouldn't get lost in a cab and in
the railway. You're so stupid, Tom. You've been going on so about being
so unhappy here, and it was all to please you I thought of going to
Pierson's, and now I suppose you'll make out it was all me, when Uncle
Geoff speaks about it."
"I never said it was all you," said Tom, "but I thought you'd be so
pleased about Miss Goldy-hair; and now you're quite vexed with me."
We were on the fair way to a quarrel, when a distraction came from the
direction of Racey.
"Her's got a' air-garden," he called out suddenly in his little shrill
voice. "Did you know her had a' air-garden? I've been d'eaming about it.
Her's going to show it me. It's full of fairies." (He really said
"wairies," but I can't write all his speaking like that; it would be so
difficult for you to understand.)
We couldn't help laughing at Racey's fancies, and in his turn Racey was
a little inclined to be offended, so Tom and I joined together to try to
bring him round.
"I don't know how it is we've got in the way of being so cross to each
other," I said sadly. "I'm sure it's quite time Miss Goldy-hair or
somebody should teach us how to be good again. How dreadfully quick one
forgets."
"Miss Goldy-hair wouldn't like us if we quarrelled," said Tom in a
melancholy voice.
"Her wouldn't _whip_ us," observed Racey.
"No, she would try to teach us to be good," I said. "I'm sure I'd try to
be good if I was with her. Tom," I went on--and here I really must put
down what I said, whether it vexes somebody or not--"Tom, do you know, I
think her face is just exactly like an angel's when you look at it quite
close."
"Or a fairy's," said Tom.
"No," I said, "an angel's. Fairies are more merry looking than she is.
She has such a kind, sorry look--that's why I think her face is like an
angel's."
Tom gave a great sigh.
"What's the matter, Tom?" I said.
"I don't know. I think I've got a headache," said Tom.
"But aren't you glad Miss Goldy-hair's coming to fetch us?" I said in my
turn.
"Kite early," said Racey.
"Yes, quite early. She promised," I said. "Aren't you glad, Tom?"
"Yes," said Tom, "but I'm sleepy."
I began to be afraid that he was not quite well. Perhaps it was with
being so frightened and crying so the night before. I made Racey be
quite still, and I didn't speak any more, and in a little I heard by
Tom's breathing that he had gone to sleep again. He was still asleep
when Sarah came up-stairs to dress us, and I was rather glad, for there
were several things I wanted to ask her. Mrs. Partridge had come back,
she told me, but much later than she had expected, for she had missed
her train and got her best bonnet spoilt walking to the station, and she
was very cross.
"But she doesn't know anything about us being out last night?" I said to
Sarah.
"Of course not, Miss Audrey. It isn't likely as _I_'d tell her. But I
can't think why you didn't ask me to post your letter instead of
thinking of going off like that yourselves. I'll never forget to the
last day of my life how frightened I was when I couldn't find you."
"I didn't want to ask you to post it, because I thought perhaps Mrs.
Partridge would find out, and then she'd scold you," I said.
Sarah looked mollified.
"Scoldings don't do much good to anybody, it seems to me," she remarked.
"I hope your uncle won't scold you," she added. "He was a good while at
that lady's last night, but I shouldn't think she's one to make
mischief."
"Did he go last night?" I asked, rather anxiously.
"Yes, Miss Audrey. I gave him the card, and he went off at once.
Benjamin"--that was Uncle Geoff's footman--"Benjamin says she's a young
lady whose mother died not long ago. He knows where she lives and all,
but I didn't remember her--not opening the door often you see. She's a
very nice young lady, but counted rather odd-like in her ways. For all
she's so rich she's as plain as plain in her dress, and for ever working
away among poor children, and that sort of way. But to be sure she's
alone in the world, and when people are that, and so rich too, it's well
when they give a thought to others."
Here a little shrill voice came from the corner of the room, where Racey
was still in his cot.
"What's 'alone in the world'?" he inquired.
Sarah gave a little start.
"Bless me," she said, "I thought he was still asleep. Never mind, Master
Racey," she said, turning to him, "you couldn't understand."
Racey muttered to himself at this. He hated being told he couldn't
understand. But just then Tom woke. He said his headache was better, but
still I didn't think he looked quite well.
"Is the new nurse coming to-day?" he inquired of Sarah. Sarah shook her
head.
"I've heard nothing about her," she said. "I don't think Mrs. Partridge
can have settled anything, and perhaps that's why she came home so
cross."
"I don't care if her comes or if her doesn't," said Racey, who had grown
very brave. "_I_'m going to Miss Goldy-hair's."
Sarah wasn't in the room just then, and I was rather glad of it. Somehow
I wouldn't have liked her to hear our name for the young lady, and I
told him he wasn't to say it to anybody but Tom and me--perhaps the
young lady wouldn't like it.
Racey said nothing, but I noticed he didn't say it again before Sarah.
He was a queer little boy in some ways. When you thought he wasn't
noticing a thing he'd know it quite well, and then he'd say it out again
some time when you didn't want him to, very likely.
All breakfast time I kept wondering what was going to happen. Would the
young lady come for us herself? Would she send to ask Uncle Geoff to let
us go, or had she asked him already? Tom was very quiet--he didn't seem
very hungry, though he said his headache was better, but his eyes looked
heavy.
"I wish she'd come," he said two or three times. "I'd like to sit on her
knee and for her to tell us stories. I'd like to sit on somebody's knee.
You're not big enough, are you, Audrey?"
I was afraid not, but I did my best. I sat down on a buffet leaning
against a chair, and made the best place I could for Tom.
"Is your head bad again, Tom?" I asked.
"No, only I like sitting this way--quite still," he replied.
I couldn't help being afraid that he was ill. The thought made me very
unhappy, for it was my fault that he had gone out in the wet and the
cold the night before, and I began to see that I had not been taking
care of my little brothers in the right way, and that mother would be
very sorry if she knew all about it. It made me feel gentler and
different somehow, and I thought to myself that I would ask Miss
Goldy-hair to tell me how I could know better what was the right way. I
was just thinking that, and I think one or two tears had dropped on
Tom's dark hair, when the door opened and Uncle Geoff came in.
At first I couldn't help being frightened. Miss Goldy-hair was sure to
have told him, and however nicely she had told him I didn't see how it
was _possible_ he shouldn't be angry. I looked up at him, and the tears
began to come quicker, and I had to hold my breath to keep myself from
bursting out into regular crying. To my surprise Uncle Geoff knelt down
on the floor beside me and stroked my head very kindly.
"My poor little Audrey," he said, "and you have been unhappy since you
came here? I am so sorry that I have not been able to make you happy,
but it isn't too late yet to try again, is it?"
I was so surprised that I couldn't speak. I just sat still, holding Tom
close in my arms, and the tears dropping faster and faster.
"I thought you thought I was so naughty, Uncle Geoff," I said at last.
"Mrs. Partridge said so, and she said we were such a trouble to you. I
thought you'd be glad if we went away; and I thought we _were_ getting
naughty. We never quarrelled hardly at home."
"But at home you had your mother and your father, who understood how to
keep you happy, so that you weren't tempted to quarrel," said Uncle
Geoff. "And I'm only a stupid old uncle, who needs teaching himself, you
see. Let's make a compact, Audrey. If you are unhappy, come and tell me
yourself, and we'll see if we can't put it right. Never mind what Mrs.
Partridge says. She means to be kind, but she's old, and it's a very
long time since she had to do with children. Now will you promise me
this, Audrey?"
"Yes, Uncle Geoff," I said, in a very low voice.
"And you will never think of running away from your cross old uncle
again, will you?" he said.
"No, Uncle Geoff," I replied. "I didn't mean to be naughty. I _really_
didn't. But we did think nobody cared for us here, and mother told me
to make the boys happy."
"And we will make them happy. We'll begin to-day and see if we can't
manage to understand each other better," said Uncle Geoff, cheerfully.
"_To-day_ you will be happy any way, I think, for I have got an
invitation for you. You know whom it's from?"
"Yes," said Tom and I together. Tom, who had been lying quite still in
my arms all this time listening half sleepily, started up in excitement.
"Yes," we said, "it's from Miss Goldy-hair."
"Miss--how much?" said Uncle Geoff.
We couldn't help laughing.
"We called her that because we didn't know her name, and her hair was so
pretty," we said.
Uncle Geoff laughed too.
"It's rather a nice name, I think," he said. "What funny creatures
children are! I must set to work to understand them better. Well, yes,
you're quite right. Miss Goldy-hair wants you all three to go and spend
all the day with her. But what's the matter with Tom?" he went on. "Have
you a headache, my boy?" for Tom had let his head drop down again on my
shoulder.
"Yes," said Tom, "and a sore t'roat, Uncle Geoff." Uncle Geoff looked
rather grave at this.
"Let's have a look at you, my boy," he said.
He lifted Tom up in his arms and carried him to the window and examined
his throat.
"He must have caught cold," he said. "It isn't very bad so far, but I'm
afraid--I'm very much afraid he mustn't go out to-day."
He--Uncle Geoff--looked at me as if he were wondering how I would take
this.
"Oh, poor Tom!" I cried. "Oh, Uncle Geoff, it was all my fault for
letting him go out last night. Oh, Uncle Geoff, do forgive me. I'll be
so good, and I'll try to amuse poor Tom and make him happy all day."
"Then you don't want to go without him?" said Uncle Geoff.
"Oh, _of course_ not," I replied. "Of course I'd not leave Tom when he's
ill, and when it was my fault too. Oh, Uncle Geoff, you don't think he's
going to be very ill, do you?"
Tom looked up very pathetically.
"Don't cry, poor Audrey," he said. "My t'roat isn't so vrezy bad."
Uncle Geoff was very kind.
"No," he said. "I don't think it'll be very bad. But you must take great
care of him, Audrey. And I don't know how to do. I don't like your being
left so much alone, and yet there's no one in the house fit to take
care of you."
"Hasn't Mrs. Partridge got a new nurse for us?" I asked.
"No," said Uncle Geoff, smiling a little. "She hasn't found one yet."
There came a sort of squeal from the corner of the room. We all started.
It was Racey. He was playing as usual with his beloved horses, not
seeming to pay any attention to what we were saying. But he was
attending all the time, and the squeal was a squeal of delight at
hearing that the new nurse was not coming.
"What is the matter, Racey?" I said.
"Her's not tumming," he shouted. "Her won't whip us."
"Who said anything about being whipped?" said Uncle Geoff.
We hesitated.
"I don't quite know," I said. "Mrs. Partridge said we should have a very
strict nurse, and I don't know how it was the boys thought she'd whip
them."
Uncle Geoff looked rather grave again.
"I must go," he said. "I will let Miss Goldy-hair,"--he smiled again
when he said it--"I will let her know that I can't let Tom out to-day
and that his good little sister won't leave him;"--how kind I thought
it of Uncle Geoff to say that!--"and I must do the best I can to find a
nice nurse for you--one that won't whip you, Racey."
"Must Tom go to bed?" I asked.
"No," said Uncle Geoff, "if he keeps warm and out of the draughts. Mrs.
Partridge will come up to see him; but you needn't be afraid, Audrey,
I'm not going to say anything about last night to her. You and I have
made an agreement, you know."
Mrs. Partridge did come up, and she was really very kind--much kinder
than she had been before. She was one of those people that get nicer
when you're ill; and besides, Uncle Geoff had said something to her, I'm
sure, though I never knew exactly what. Any way she left off calling us
naughty and telling us what a trouble we were. But it was all thanks to
Miss Goldy-hair, Tom and I said so to each other over and over again. No
one else could have put things right the way she had done.
Tom was very good and patient, though his throat was really pretty bad
and his head ached. Mrs. Partridge sent him some black currant tea to
drink a little of every now and then, and Uncle Geoff sent Benjamin to
the chemist's with some doctor's writing on a paper and he brought back
some rather nasty medicine which poor Tom had to take every two hours.
But though I did my very best to amuse him, and read him over and over
again all the stories I could find, it seemed a very long, cold, dull
morning, and we couldn't help thinking how different it was from what we
had hoped for--spending the day with Miss Goldy-hair, I mean.
"If only we hadn't gone out in the cold last night you'd have been quite
well to-day, Tom," I said sadly.
"Yes, but then we wouldn't have found Miss Goldy-hair," said Tom.
"I don't see that it's much good to have found her," said I. I was
rather dull and sorry about Tom, and I didn't know what more to do to
amuse him. "I don't believe we'll see her for ever so long, and perhaps
she'll forget about us as she has such a lot of children she cares for."
"But they're _poor_ children," said Tom, "she can't like them as much as
us. She said so."
"She didn't mean it that way," I said. "She'd be very angry if she'd
heard you say that, as if poor children weren't as good as rich ones."
"But she _did_ say so," persisted Tom. "When I asked her if going to see
the poor children was as nice as if she had us always, she said no."
"Well, she meant it wasn't as nice as if she was mother and had her
own children always. She didn't mean anything about because they were
poor. _I_ believe she likes poor children best. Lots of people do, and
I'm sure we've lots of trouble too, though we're not poor. If we'd been
poor like the ones in _Little Meg's Children_, or _Froggy's Brother
Ben_, Miss Goldy-hair would have been here _ever_ so early this morning,
with blankets and coals, and milk, and bread and sugar--"
"And 'tawberry dam and delly and 'ponge cakes and olanges and
eberysing," interrupted Racey, coming forward from his corner.
[Illustration: In walked Miss Goldy-hair herself!]
I had been "working myself up," as Pierson used to call it, and I was
fast persuading myself that Miss Goldy-hair was very unkind, and that
after all we were poor deserted little creatures, but for all that I
couldn't help laughing at Racey breaking in with his list of what he
thought the greatest delicacies. Tom laughed too-- I must say in some
ways Tom was a very good little boy in spite of his sore throat, and
Racey was standing with his head on one side considering what more he
would wish for in Miss Goldy-hair's basket, when--_wasn't_ it
funny?--there came a little tap at the door, and almost before we could
say "come in," it opened, and--oh, how delighted we were--in walked Miss
Goldy-hair herself!
She was smiling with pleasure at our surprise, and wonderful to say, she
was carrying a big, big basket, such a big basket that Tom, who had
very nice manners for a boy, jumped up at once to help her with it, and
in the nice way she had she let him think he was helping her a great
deal, though really she kept all the weight of it herself, till between
them they got it landed safely on the table.
Racey danced forward in delight.
"Audrey, Audrey," he cried, "her _has_ got a basket, and her _has_ come.
Her said she would."
Miss Goldy-hair stooped down to kiss his eager little face. Then she
turned to me and kissed me too, but I felt as if I hardly deserved it.
"Did you think I had forgotten you, Audrey?" she said.
I felt my cheeks get very red, but I didn't speak.
"Didn't you promise to trust me last night?" she said again.
"Yes, Miss Goldy-hair, but I didn't know that you'd come to see us
because Tom was ill. You said you'd come to fetch us to have dinner and
tea with you, but I didn't know you'd come when you heard Tom couldn't
go out."
"Why, don't you need me all the more because you can't go out?" she said
brightly. "I'm going to stay a good while with you, and I have brought
some little things to please you."
She turned to the basket which Racey had never taken his eyes off. We
all stood round her, gazing eagerly. There were all sorts of things to
please us--oranges, and a few grapes, and actually a little shape of
jelly and some awfully nice funny biscuits. Then there were a few books,
and two or three little dolls without any clothes on, and a little
packet of pieces of silk and nice stuffs to dress them with, and a roll
of beautiful coloured paper, and some canvas with patterns marked on it,
and bright-coloured wools.
"I've brought you some things to amuse you," said Miss Goldy-hair, "for
Tom can't go out, and it's a very cold, wet day, not fit for Audrey or
Racey to go out either. And as your tutor won't be coming as Tom's ill,
it would be a very long day for you all alone, wouldn't it?"
Then she went on to explain to us what she meant us to do with the
things she had brought. Some of them were the same that the children she
had told us about had to amuse them when they were ill, and she let Tom
and Racey choose a canvas pattern each, and helped them to begin working
them with the pretty wools.
"How nice it would be to make something pretty to send to your mother
for Christmas! Wouldn't she be surprised?" she said; and Tom was so
pleased at the thought that he set to work very hard and tried so much
that he soon learnt to do cross-stitch quite well. Racey did a little of
his too, but after a while he got tired of it and went back to his
horses, and we heard him "gee-up"-ing, and "gee-woh"-ing, and "stand
there, will you"-ing in his corner just as usual.
"What a merry little fellow he is," said Miss Goldy-hair, "how well he
amuses himself."
"Yes," I said, "he hasn't been near so dull as Tom and me. He was only
frightened for fear the new nurse should whip him. But Uncle Geoff has
promised she sha'n't, and so now Racey's quite happy and doesn't mind
anything. I don't think he minds about mother going away now."
"He's such a little boy," said Miss Goldy-hair.
But I was a little mistaken about Racey. He thought of things more than
I knew.
Then Miss Goldy-hair helped me to begin dressing the little dolls. They
were for a little ill girl who couldn't dress them for herself, as she
had to lie flat down all day and could hardly move at all because her
back was weak somehow, but she was very fond of little dolls and liked
to have them put round her where she could see them. I had never dressed
such small ones before, and it was great fun, though rather difficult.
But after I had worked at them for a good while Miss Goldy-hair told
both Tom and me that we'd better leave off and go on with our work in
the afternoon.
"It's never a good plan to work at anything till you get quite tired,"
she said. "It only makes you feel wearied and cross, and then you never
have the same pleasure in the work again. Besides, it must be nearly
your dinner-time, and I must be thinking of going home."
[Illustration]
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